


Imagine the Possum-bilities

by Vexatious



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Brotherly Bonding, Child Death (mention), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Possum - Freeform, Underfell Asgore Dreemurr, Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Toriel (Undertale), Underfell Undyne (Undertale), Yup a possum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexatious/pseuds/Vexatious
Summary: Red went dumpster diving for leftovers, but instead he found a friend. Good thing his brother is so open-minded and accepting, otherwise things could go hilariously wrong!
Relationships: Grillby & Sans (Undertale), Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Papyrus & Undyne (Undertale)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 86





	1. Doom and Gloom

**Author's Note:**

> Based on artwork commissioned by Tumblr user melodyrider.

"WHAT," squawked Edge, jabbing one long phalanx at the narrow white face poking out of Red’s jacket, “IS THAT?” Unblinking beady black eyes met glowing red eyelights. A tiny pink nose, bristling with whiskers, twitched.

“it’s mine is what it is,” said Red with a cooler-than-thou attitude. The creature added a hiss of agreement. Red and his jacket passenger brushed past Edge and walked into the house. Doomfanger, Edge’s large white cat, eyed both of them skeptically from her palatial cat tree.

“YOU CAN’T BRING THAT THING INTO OUR HOUSE,” protested Edge. Ignoring him, Red bent down and unzipped his jacket. His passenger waddled out onto the floor, long hairless tail raised as if it owned the place. Doomfanger and Edge emitted nearly identical huffs of indignation.

“you have Doomfanger,” Red pointed out. “and now I have-” Red paused for only a fraction of second to contemplate “- Gloomfanger.” Gloomfanger chirped in a very un-gloomy manner, much to Red's delight. 

While his brother sputtered his outrage from the front door, Red crouched, fishing what had once been a piece of gourmet burger from Grillby's out of his pocket. Unlike a fine cheese or wine, the meat did not age well in its lint-lined improvised cellar. Red tossed the morsel to Gloomfanger, who gobbled it down happily.

"SANS! SANS, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" Red was, in fact, far too fascinated by Gloomfanger's precious little hand paws to do anything more than half listen to his brother's tirade, but he could tell that proverbial steam must be shooting out of Edge's ear canals. "YOU CAN'T JUST BRING THAT… THAT THING INTO OUR HOUSE!"

In addition to the perceived ear steam, Red could hear his brother's characteristic foot stomping behind him. He ignored Edge’s antics, choosing to focus on Gloomfanger's needle-sharp teeth as the hairy creature open-mouth chewed more pocket offerings, and threw his answer over his shoulder in an officious voice. "he's an opossum, Boss. and his name's Gloomfanger."

“WHERE DID YOU EVEN FIND SOMETHING LIKE THAT?” Edge gestured at Gloomfanger. The possum, not overly fond of the conversation’s tone or the wild gesturing, scurried under the couch to hide. Curious and equally done with the drama, Doomfanger followed.

“in the dumpster behind Grillby’s,” explained Red as if it should be obvious that one found pets by dumpster diving.

“WHY, EXACTLY, WERE YOU IN THE DUMPSTER BEHIND GRILLBY’S?”

“the second i walked in, Grillby was all like ‘pay your tab’ and ‘stop butt scooting across the floor’ like he owns the place.”

“HE DOES OWN THE PLACE.”

“yeah, well, he also throws out perfectly good leftovers as soon as monsters stop eating ‘em! i didn’t want to deal with Grillbs, so i headed out back for some chow. when i looked in the dumpster, i saw Gloomy laying on a plate of fries that were still warm! i thought he was dead, and he smelled terrible…”

“SO YOU DECIDED TO RESUSCITATE IT?” Edge interrupted incredulously. 

“what? no. i picked him up to move him so i could get the fries, and he resuscitated himself! he climbed right into my jacket and made himself at home, so i snagged the fries and we shared them.”

Edge just sighed, at a complete loss for words. His disgusting brother deserved an equally disreputable and unkempt pet to share his garbage-eating tendencies with. Gloomfanger would feel right at home in Red’s disaster of a bedroom. Speaking (or rather thinking) of Gloomfanger…

“where’d Gloomfanger go?”

“IS YOUR DISGUSTING TRASH BEAST UNDER THE SOFA WITH MY DARLING DOOMFANGER?”

Eyelights bulging, Edge leapt onto the coffee table, grabbed the couch with both hands and upturned it, flinging it into the back wall of their living room. Doomfanger and Gloomfanger blinked up at him, then Doomfanger resumed grooming the possum’s round, hairless ears and purring. The possum made a grumbling sound that resembled the purr in the same way that the possum itself resembled the primped and preened Doomfanger.

Edge narrowed his sockets at Gloomfanger. “I’M WATCHING YOU,” he warned, using two slender phalanges to point to his sockets then to Gloomfanger. Gloomfanger regarded him coolly and burped.

Snorting, Red started up the stairs to prepare a spot in his aforementioned disaster of a room for his new pet to sleep. He stopped halfway up to call for Gloomfanger. “my bro’s watchin’ you,” he reminded the possum in a stage whisper, “so don’t go knockin’ her up or anything.”

The garbage-gobbling pair darted the rest of the way up the stairs with Edge’s outraged screeches chasing behind them.

Red spent the next hour sifting through piles of unwashed clothing, sorting them into new configurations until he had some passably clean blankets, sheets, and a few towels crammed haphazardly into his closet as a private nesting place for Gloomfanger. Gloomy climbed onto the pile, stomped it down to a serviceable height, and chirped in satisfaction. Red watched proudly as the possum pulled itself into a possum-loaf shape- yet another rough-around-the-edges mimicry of one of Doomfanger’s common behaviors.

As he crawled into bed (a mattress on the floor with a nest similar to Gloomfanger’s strewn across it), Red smiled to himself. His brother had Doomfanger, and now he had a pet too. Red didn’t dislike the spoiled feline, but he sometimes resented her, which was much different than being jealous of her, at least in his mind. Before Doomy arrived on their doorstep in the middle of a blizzard one night, it had just been him and his bro, two skeleton brothers against the dangerous world.

From babybones to stripes, Red had been a protective older brother, making sure that Edge never lacked anything despite the struggles that they both faced. Edge grew into a powerful and capable adult monster, but he still leaned on his big brother when he needed someone to confide in. Red cherished his position in Edge’s life. Very few monsters in their universe could boast having any sort of close bond with another monster… and then the little white ball of fluff showed up like a snow poff sprung to life and changed things.

If he were being completely honest and not at all in denial, Red would admit that he now needed Edge much more than his brother needed him. Instead, he half-heartedly blamed Doomfanger for replacing him. Edge would stroke her silky fur whenever he felt upset or pressured by his position in the Royal Guard. Edge also gave her an abundance of his doting, doting that had once exclusively fallen onto Red. Red shared all of these hidden thoughts (and a few of his favorite jokes) with his new companion, Gloomfanger. 

Now Red wouldn’t rely on Edge as much, just the same way that Edge no longer relied on him. It served his brother right, in his opinion.

Meanwhile, Edge busied himself tidying up the living room. The coffee table drooped a bit, but the couch had survived its assault remarkably well. While her owner righted the furniture he had displaced, Doomfanger made an admirable bound back onto her cat tree throne to oversee the work from an appropriately lofty elevation.

Edge brushed himself off to remove the nonexistent dirt of a job well done and surveyed the living room. His eyelights came to rest on Doomfanger, and he found himself comparing her to Red’s unsightly new pet. Doomfanger oozed grace and majesty. The pure white feline was perfectly groomed, perfectly regal, and perfectly ferocious, just like a certain tall, dark, and handsome skeleton. Gloomfanger reeked, looked perpetually much worse for wear, and probably had no idea what the word grooming even meant. The gears in Edge’s mind turned, and a deep meaning floated around just past the reach of clear conscious thought.

Edge ignored the potential epiphany. He went into the kitchen and dug around under the sink until he found an old bowl of Doomfanger’s, a simple shiny metal dish that Edge had quickly replaced with something more elegant for his pampered cat. It would do nicely for what he had in mind though. 

Red stumbled tiredly into the kitchen the next morning, scratching his tailbone and squinting against the bright light. Gloomfanger waddled contentedly at his heels making a variety of grunting sounds that proved to be indiscernible from Red’s own. Red pulled up short when he saw the gleaming metal dish next to Doomfanger’s… full to the brim with the same expensive food that Edge gave his beloved pet. Gloomfanger bumped into the back of Red’s legs and gave an irritated squeak.

“what’s with the extra food there, Boss?” Edge ignored Red’s use of his babybones nickname, a name Red only used to annoy him or disguise those pesky affectionate emotions.

“IT’S NOTHING,” Edge snapped, using a very similar tactic to distract his brother from the act of kindness and acceptance. “I JUST DON’T WANT THAT DIRTY ANIMAL STEALING ANY OF DOOMFANGER’S FOOD IS ALL.”

“riiiiiiiight.”

Gloomfanger’s nose twitched, and the possum shuffled forward to investigate the gourmet chow. Doomfanger stepped up to her dish, and together, the two animals began to eat. Edge and Red both took seats at their kitchen table. Soon two creatures that embodied class sat side-by-side with two unsavory but lovable creatures to dine in companionable silence.

Instead of widening the rift between the skeleton brothers, Gloomfanger’s presence laid the foundation for a bridge to be built over it.


	2. Mission: Im-possum-ble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's wrong with Gloomfanger?

“‘ey, Boss, i think that food you’ve been givin’ Gloomfanger is makin’ him fat,” Red complained, pointing at an undeniably plump Gloomfanger, who rested alongside Doomfanger in a spot of sunlight in twin loaf positions. Doomfanger’s sleek white form accentuated the eternally disheveled possum's rotund physique.

“NONSENSE. I ONLY GIVE OUR PETS THE HIGHEST QUALITY IN NUTRITIONALLY BALANCED MEALS,” Edge boasted proudly. “HE’S PROBABLY GETTING FAT FROM THE GARBAGE YOU GIVE HIM FROM GRILLBY’S.”

“we haven’t eaten out of the trash bin in weeks,” protested Red. “besides, if junk food made him fat, then i’d be fat too, and i’m just-”

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT,” warned Edge.

“- skin and bones!” Red howled with glee, and Gloomfanger echoed the sound. Doomfanger and Edge shared an exasperated look over the cackling duo’s heads. Despite his flippancy, Red secretly vowed to put Gloomfanger on a diet. Gloomfanger’s well-being was his responsibility, after all.

Restricting Gloomfanger’s food intake worked about as well as having a Whimsum in the Royal Guard. Red tried to enforce the diet, but Gloomfanger chirped, mewled, and begged for additional food and treats. Red couldn’t stand seeing his pet with such a hungry gleam in those beady eyes; he gave in every time. Now he regretted it.

* * *

“bro?” Red asked in an uncharacteristically tentative way that caught Edge’s undivided attention immediately. Something was clearly wrong. It didn’t take any prying to find out what it was either. Red burst into tears before Edge could even speak.

“i put Gloomy on a diet, but he’s always so hungry an’ i didn’t want him to starve but i only gave him little treats an’ now he’s sick n’ dying and it’s all my fault,” Red wailed in a single, rushed breath. Gloomfanger’s decline gave Red flashbacks to his younger years when he struggled desperately to care for his baby brother. The thought of failing to care for Gloomfanger hit way too close to home.

Edge affixed his calm and collected “Captain of the Royal Guard” facade. It surprised him to see Red so invested in Gloomfanger’s health since he never seemed to care much about anything (especially picking up his discarded socks!). Red rarely panicked; the unremitting clown of a skeleton played off almost everything serious or concerning as a joke.

“SHOW ME,” Edge ordered, hoping that Gloomfanger simply suffered from mild indigestion and that this was all an incredibly dramatic overreaction on Red’s part. Edge hated being wrong.

The bedraggled possum laid on its side in a nest of Red’s discarded (and likely unwashed) clothes and bedding. Gloomfanger’s sides rose and fell with rapid, shallow breathing, and the poor creature’s eyes bore the flat sheen of utter exhaustion. The possum also appeared to be alarmingly bloated. Edge was no possum expert, but Gloomfanger’s condition couldn’t be called anything less than dire. In the face of this challenge, Edge’s boastful confidence slipped away, and he stood in Red’s room, completely speechless as he fought an inner battle with an all too familiar and often ignored sense of helplessness.

Red pushed past his brother, kneeling at Gloomfanger’s side with tears leaking from his sockets. Red almost never cried, always choosing instead to release any emotional tension in the form of flippant jokes or vulgar humor. In fact, Edge could only remember a handful of times that Red had reacted like this… and all of them involved his babybones self and their struggle to survive in this harsh world. Edge’s SOUL twisted; he had to do something.

“I WILL HANDLE THIS,” Edge stated, more to reassure himself than to offer any comfort to his clearly inconsolable brother. The tall skeleton did the only thing he could think of and pulled out his cell phone to dial the only person that he would ever dare to ask for assistance- his rival and the closest thing to a friend that existed in the Underground, Undyne.

Undyne answered in her usual manner: “Whaddaya want, punk?” Edge could hear the distinct vocal patterns of a magical girl anime in the background. Before Edge could even begin to explain the situation, Red shrieked something about a wound in Gloomfanger’s stomach.

Covering the cell phone with a bony hand, Edge snapped an order at his brother: “GO TO THE KITCHEN… NOW!” Red obeyed, and Edge took his place crouching in front of Gloomfanger. The background noise on the phone quieted.

“Does someone’s ass need kickin’?” Undyne asked in a low, dangerous voice. She may be loud and aggressive, but Undyne was someone that Edge could genuinely rely on in an emergency.

“NO,” replied Edge. “RED’S PET IS-” Edge checked to make sure that his brother was out of proverbial earshot “- DYING, I THINK.”

“Oh,” said Undyne softly. “A suplex isn’t gonna fix that, is it?”

“No,” sighed Edge, reaching down to examine Gloomfanger’s stomach. He needed to see the injury before he attempted any sort of healing. As soon as he touched the creature’s abdomen, something inside of it squirmed. Edge jerked his hand back in surprise.

Red paced around the kitchen, wringing his hands. Maybe Edge knew some first aid techniques from his time in the Royal Guard. If anyone could fix this, it would be his brother, but what if… what if Gloomfanger didn’t make it though? The sound of Edge’s panther-like tread on the squeaky floorboard at the foot of the stairs sent Red dashing into the living room for an update.

Edge held a limp Gloomfanger in his arms, and Red thought his SOUL might shatter… until Gloomfanger chirped half-heartedly at him.

Mouth agape in disbelief, Red ran forward, arms open to receive his miraculously revived pet, but Edge put out a hand to stop him. Red frowned.

“what’s wrong with him?” he asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the wound he’d seen earlier on Gloomfanger’s stomach. Had Edge given the possum stitches? A bandage? Green magic?

“WHAT’S WRONG IS THAT HE IS A HER,” said Edge. “AND SHE HAS BABIES.”

“what?” squeaked Red.

“IF YOU HAD BOTHERED TO DO ANY RESEARCH AT ALL ON YOUR PET,” lectured Edge, who had only looked up information on possums a few moments ago but had no issues with feigning expertise, “THEN YOU’D KNOW THAT SHE’S A MARSUPIAL THAT CARRIES HER BABIES IN HER POUCH.”

“babies?” repeated Red dumbly, still processing Gloofanger’s new gender and unexpected childbirth.

“EIGHT OF THEM ACTUALLY,” continued Edge. “THEY’RE FULLY GROWN NOW, AND CARRYING THEM IS WEARING GLOOMFANGER OUT. IT’S TIME FOR THEM TO BE INTRODUCED TO THE WORLD.”

Edge handed Gloomfanger to Red at last, nestling her into his brother’s arms on her back so that her stomach faced upwards. Eight angular little faces jockeyed for position to peer out of her pouch at the big bright world.

“Gloomy… is a mom,” gasped Red in wonder, realization finally settling over him as tears of joy washed away all signs of sorrow from his face. Suddenly, Red’s sockets narrowed. “Doomfanger knocked up my possum!” he accused.

Doomfanger, who had just stepped into the room, meowed in confusion. Gloomfanger wiggled out of Red’s grip and waddled over to the cat. With the mother possum's help, eight mini Gloomfangers emerged from their pouch hiding place. After inspecting each one with delicate sniffs of her petite pink nose, Doomfanger gave a mew of approval and began to groom the little ones.

“DOOMFANGER IS FEMALE,” Edge stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

“lesbians,” whispered Red reverently, nodding to himself.

“THAT STILL DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!”


	3. The Possum Posse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world of Underfell has gone to the possums!

Gloomfanger’s brood of tiny opossums easily integrated themselves into the daily lives of the skeleton brothers. Their instinctual desire to climb and cling to other living creatures proved endearing to everyone in the household, and there was no shortage of willing baby possum perches. The baby possums began their supreme reign over the home by electing the local regent, Doomfanger, as their second mother.

From the moment that they’d first emerged from Gloomfanger’s pouch, eyes barely opened and legs still wobbly, Doomfanger fascinated them with her silky white fur, rumbling purr, and insistent grooming. Eight small passengers could barely cram themselves comfortably atop Gloomfanger’s coarsely-furred back, but split equally between the cat and the possum, the baby Gloomies (as Red called them) enjoyed a roomy and luxurious mode of transportation.

* * *

It wasn’t until the baby possums were quite a bit bigger and significantly less fragile that they were allowed to clamber onto the other members of the household, but as soon as the first miniature pink possum hands wrapped around the skeleton brothers’ pant legs, the little possums secured their positions in Red and Edge’s hearts. The gruff brothers, unused to expressing positive emotions, both denied the tears of joy in their sockets, blaming allergies and invisible onions as the baby Gloomies played on their new skeleton jungle gyms.

“hey, Boss, check it out,” said Red one day, opening his jacket like a flasher to show seven little possums hanging upside down by their tails from various ribs. Gloomfanger herself peered over the waistband of Red’s shorts, where she was nestled in the bowl of his pelvis. Edge sighed.

“THAT’S VULGAR,” he scolded, arms folded across his chest. A very small baby possum head popped up from the folds of his tattered scarf and chattered a scolding of her own. The only female in the brood happened to prefer Edge’s scarf over any other perch, and Edge allowed her unprecedented access to it, and to his well-guarded affections.

The rambunctious baby Gloomies grew quickly. In order to tell them apart more easily, Edge made each small possum a differently colored bandana. The female of the group received a bandana in the same color as Doomfanger’s jeweled collar- a delicate rose pink just a few shades lighter than Edge’s magic. The other possums, a rowdy bunch of boys who loved greasy Grillby’s food as much as Red and Gloomfanger did, wore vibrant shades of yellow, orange, green, violet, midnight blue, pale blue, and dark red.

Admiring his handiwork, Edge scowled when Red announced that he had also chosen names for the entire brood. The tall skeleton had a feeling that Red’s choices would not meet his very high standards, and Red proved him right, holding up a possum in a green bandana and declaring with authority: “Dumpster.”

One by one, Red lifted the baby possums, Lion King style, and proclaimed their terrible names to an appalled audience of one.

The possum wearing the yellow bandana: “Rubbish.”

The possum in the violet bandana: “Trashy.”

The possum sporting the orange bandana: “Debris.”

The possums who had midnight blue and pale blue bandanas: “Filth” and “Scraps.”

Finally, Red lifted the baby possum wearing his namesake, the red bandana. “this little guy’s called Slop, or Junior for short.”

Edge swatted Red’s hand away from his beloved scarf-dwelling baby possum. “YOU CAN’T NAME THEM ALL AFTER GARBAGE,” he shouted, not wanting to hear the horrible name that his brother had chosen for his favorite possum of the litter.

“of course not, Boss,” said Red with a mischievous grin. “the little girl is called-”

Edge clenched his sharp teeth and braced himself for the mental onslaught of whatever Red would say next. “IF YOU CALL HER SCUMBELINA, I WILL END YOU.”

“- Anastasia.”

Edge blinked, and Red howled with laughter.

* * *

Edge volunteered to take the young possums with him to the Capitol to give his brother and Gloomfanger a day to themselves to relax and stuff their faces with greasy junk food. The Captain of Snowdin’s Royal Guard would be meeting Undyne and the King for their annual status report. Edge tucked the eight little furballs into his armor, thinking that they would spend the entire time dozing off to his boring reports about inventory, training, and guard rotations. Of course nothing ever went that smoothly when Gloomfanger’s little ones were involved.

Anastasia, ever the dignified young lady, climbed up and nestled herself in Edge’s scarf underneath his chin and stayed quiet and out-of-sight during the visit. Her brothers, however, decided that they wanted to see what was happening around them, not snooze through the experience in Edge’s stuffy armor.

The first sign of trouble came when Edge felt stiff little whiskers tickling his ribs. He managed to turn a very unbecoming giggle into a much less embarrassing clearing of his nonexistent throat. Undyne was familiar enough with her skeleton counterpart to know something was amiss, but she chose to observe the situation instead of interrupting the report. Her instinct for hilarious chaos turned out to be right.

It didn’t take long for a triangular little face to appear through the armhole of Edge’s armor. Hairless ears brushed the underside of Edge’s humerus, making him yelp, a sound that could not be disguised as anything else. Undyne barely held back a laugh. The King regarded the skeleton with a frown. Edge’s mind raced, desperately reaching for any plausible explanation.

“I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I LEFT A LASAGNA IN THE OVEN,” he offered lamely. The King’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and Undyne sputtered.

“He really cares about his lasagna,” Undyne added unhelpfully.

More possum faces pushed their way to the potential exits at the neck and arms of Edge’s armor, and their movements made him twitch and spasm in a strange parody of dancing. Undyne doubled over, filling the halls with her raucous laughter. In response to the unfamiliar noise, the baby possums wrapped their tails around Edge’s arms, hissing in fear.

“What is the meaning of this behavior?” bellowed King Asgore, a monster to be feared and respected.

Edge spread his arms, and seven baby possums dropped into upside down hanging positions. Edge looked like he wore a fringed cape made of scruffy two-toned fur. Undyne rolled on the palace floor. Asgore leaned close to the possums to inspect them. Anastasia climbed out of Edge’s scarf to stand boldly in front of the massive ruler of the Underground. She chattered aggressively at Asgore, and there could be no mistaking her protective stance or ferocious noises. The feisty female possum would not allow Edge to come to harm under her watchful button eyes.

A slow smile spread across Asgore’s severe features. He chuckled and stepped back. Satisfied at having driven off the threat, Anastasia returned to her hiding place in Edge’s scarf folds. He gave her tiny head a gentle scritch with one sharp phalange.

“I see Snowdin’s Junior Guard is coming along nicely,” the King commented. “Of course, as Royal Guard members, these creatures are under my protection, and I trust you, Captain, to make sure all of the monsters of Snowdin know it.”

“YES, SIR,” replied Edge, silently thinking that this was the exact opposite of the way a royal guard actually worked but refusing to argue with his monarch, especially after such a gracious declaration.

“Do make sure you bring them along when you make your next report, Captain. You are dismissed.”

“YES, SIR.” 

As Asgore turned and walked away, Edge spotted a very brave young possum, Scraps if he remembered correctly (and he always did), clinging to one of King Asgore’s impressive horns. Though the fearsome ruler pretended not to notice his illicit passenger, he proceeded to walk with exceptional care so as not to jostle the tiny creature. He also murmured to Scraps once he believed himself to be out of earshot of the two Captains.

Undyne laid on the floor, gasping for air. When she finally composed herself, she grinned an unsettling toothy grin at Edge. “The big softy,” she commented, and she would know since Asgore had adopted her when she was still very young. “He hasn’t looked at another creature like that since I graduated from stripes!”

* * *

From the moment Red stepped across the threshold into Grillby’s restaurant, he could feel the purple fire elemental’s seething ire. His hunger overpowered what dismal common sense he possessed, so he sauntered up to the bar anyway and plopped his bony behind on an empty stool.

Grillby glowered at Red so hard that Red might’ve expected him to burst into flames… if he wasn’t already consumed by them on a daily basis. “Unless you’re here to pay your tab, Red,” growled Grillby, leaving the threat open ended.

Red blinked at the fire elemental with exaggerated innocence. “my bro’s going to pay it when he gets back from guard duty,” he explained. 

The glower and purple flames intensified. “That’s what you said last time,” growled Grillby.

“yeah, but i was lying that time.”

“And are you lying this time?” 

“probably. anyway, can i get a burger and an extra large order of fries?”

The pure audacity of the skeleton in front of him struck Grillby speechless. Before he could recover enough coherent communication skills to tell Red exactly where he could go and what he could do with himself once he got there in extreme graphic detail, eight small possums emerged from Red’s jacket and scurried across the counter to an abandoned plate of fries. The little ones picked up the now-cold fries in their little pink possum hands and nibbled them delicately, eyes half-closed as they savored the flavor.

Any monster who wasn’t as familiar with the expressions of Grillby’s not-quite-face as Red wouldn’t have noticed the agitation giving way and the sharp-edged flames softening. Grillby whirled and entered the kitchen, returning a moment later with a plate of stir-fried vegetables and a small order of fries. He cleared the plate of leftovers from the counter and set the freshly-made dish in front of the hungry baby possums. The possums descended on the food with gusto, making adorable small noises of pleasure as they tasted the gourmet cuisine.

Gloomfanger’s head popped up from the collar of Red’s sweater, and a smile rippled to life in the purple fire of Grillby’s mouth. “This must be the mother. A moment please, m’lady.” Grillby disappeared into the kitchen again and again he returned with a plate of hot fries and a burger with extra vegetables and no bun. He placed this offering in front of Gloomfanger who gave it an investigative sniff before picking it up and eating it like a hairy miniature Red.

Red reached for one of the fries on Gloomfanger’s plate, and Grillby slapped his hand away. “That food is for the mother of this adorable brood, not a degenerate lazybones who doesn’t pay his tab,” snapped Grillby.

“but what about my order?” pouted Red, watching the possum family chirp happily as they enjoyed their meals.

“Your order? Red, you’re lucky I don’t toss your free-loading ass out into the nearest snow poff.” Grillby folded his arms across his chest, but once again hunger outweighed sense when it came to a certain skeleton.

“i brought the possums to visit you though,” Red wheedled. Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his ever-present (even indoors) sunglasses, or at least, Red assumed that what passed for Grillby’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses based on the low and dangerous tone of his voice. Red couldn’t actually see through the reflective material at all, but he knew Grillby fairly well after so many years of unpaid and antagonistic patronage.

“I suppose.” Grillby drew out the word suppose, letting Red know that he agreed but with extreme reluctance and utmost disdain.

“I might even be willing to forgive your tab provided that you bring these tiny guests to try out a few new recipes that I have in mind for them.” As Grillby spoke, little Trashy, the possum with the violet bandana, waddled up to him and gave his forearm a nuzzle. The tips of Grillby’s flames flushed blue, and he made a quick escape to the kitchen to hide the fire elemental equivalent of a blush.

Thinking that Grillby couldn’t see him from the other room, Red snuck a fry off of Gloomfanger’s plate only to see flames belch from the double doors leading to the cooking area and hear Grillby’s warning growl:

“RED!”

_Busted._

* * *

Usually, Red left Gloomfanger and her brood at home during his sentry duties, duties that his brother had signed him up for under the pretense of forcing him to “contribute to monster society” though Edge actually feared that without a task or a purpose, Red might fall down as so many other monsters did. Red was actually grateful for his brother’s strong-armed recruitment; it was during one of his sentry patrols that he’d found a massive ornate door hidden away in Snowdin Forest.

Red had knocked upon the door, not expecting an answer. He’d gotten one, though- a reedy female voice calling out the response “Who’s there?” Unable to resist, Red tried out one of his favorite knock-knock jokes.

“wooden shoe.”

A pause.

Then “Wooden shoe who?” spoken by the same female voice.

“wooden shoe like to know.” 

Red knew the monster on the other side of the door couldn’t see him, but he grinned in eager anticipation, waiting for them to get the joke. The voice laughed a moment later, musical laughter that left Red wondering if he should perhaps try another joke.

He knocked again. 

Sometimes he told jokes to the voice behind the door to the Ruins. Sometimes he just talked, passing the time by sharing his life experiences. The voice rarely spoke about itself, though it occasionally described happenings in the Ruins that he might find amusing. Red had a sneaking suspicion that the voice might belong to a certain missing Queen, but he didn’t bring it up, not wanting to upset her and lose his audience for the terrible jokes he thought up in his ample free time. His brother sure didn’t appreciate them!

Red even told the voice behind the door about Gloomfanger and her babies. The voice became demure, asking to meet the little ones and sighing wistfully. Red waited until the baby possums were old enough to make the journey through the frigid forest before bringing them to meet his partner in crimes against comedy. Anastasia had opted to do her civic duty alongside Edge, but the male possums wiggled with excitement at the sight of new surroundings. For the first time since he’d discovered it, the door to the Ruins opened, just a crack, just enough for Red to see a yellow eye peering out, watching the little possums wrestle in the snow.

Rubbish, bright yellow bandana flying like a flag behind him, broke away from his brothers and darted through the open doorway. The Ruins door slammed shut behind him, and Red leapt to his feet in a panic. He pounded on the door, causing echoes to boom through the caverns of the Ruins like subterranean thunder. A sickly sweet singsong voice called out a familiar response.

“Who’s there?” The words left a sinister silence after they were spoken.

“gimme my possum back, lady!” Red was in no mood for knock-knock jokes.

The chiming laughter from behind the door was tinged with madness now. “Give me my possum back who?”

“you,” snarled Red. “you gimme my possum back.”

Nobody answered. Red stood dumbfounded in the snow, Gloomfanger and her six unstolen little ones standing in a half-circle behind him. Unsure what to do next, Red pulled out his phone and called his brother for help.

Beyond the door, Toriel, the missing Queen, scooped Rubbish up and cradled him in her arms. The drowsy baby possum snuggled against her chest, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep after the exertion or romping with his siblings in the snow. His prehensile tail, bright pink and hairless, curled around her wrist like a living bracelet.

“Let’s go to my house, my child,” the unhinged monster crooned. “I’ll bake you a pie, and you’ll be so happy that you’ll never leave me.”

Neither Gloomfanger nor her children had ever been known to turn down a free meal, so when Toriel deposited the little possum onto her kitchen table and began assembling ingredients, Rubbish tucked his feet underneath him and took a quick nap in the loaf position that he had learned from Doomfanger. Toriel hummed as she baked, and the kitchen became pleasantly warm, though the fragrance of baked goods was nowhere to be found.

When the timer on the oven chimed, Rubbish opened his shiny black eyes, watching Toriel don oven mitts and retrieve the pie. She placed it on the table in front of him. The crust appeared to be made of mud like substance, most likely mud by the smell of it. Snails, stunned by the heat of the oven, recovered themselves and attempted to crawl away from their pie pan prison.

Fortunately, possums regard snails as a delicacy, and Rubbish unfolded himself from his loaf position and trotted across the table to hunt the sluggish creatures. Toriel beamed at him like any proud mother would at a precocious child crunching up all of his snails at dinnertime. After Rubbish had finished his snail snack and groomed his long whiskers, Toriel picked him up and carried him into the den. Sitting in front of the fireplace, she opened a photo album, showing the pictures to Rubbish and describing them one by one.

“This is my first child, Asriel, and my adopted child, a human called Chara. They’re dead now, of course.” Toriel spoke in a cheerful voice despite her macabre words. “This child came along later. I found her in the Ruins, but she’s dead now too. My husband killed her, you know. I decided to move to the Ruins to make sure no other young ones would meet the same fate, but they all do, my child. They all do. All my children leave me no matter what I do to stop them.” Toriel stroked the pages of the photo album wistfully, lost in memory. Rubbish put his small pink paw over her hand as if consoling her.

“I even tried training my children so that they would be strong enough to defeat my husband and escape,” Toriel whispered conspiratorially. “Alas, that child also died.” Toriel remembered the scorch marks, all that remained of that particular child, and how long it had taken to scrub them from the cobblestones of the Ruins. No need to worry her newly adopted possum with that detail. Rubbish would not ever leave. She would see to that. Doors weren’t only for keeping unwanted visitors out…

Outside, in Snowdin Forest, the skeleton brothers sent flurries of futile bone attacks smashing into the door to the Ruins. They even summoned their Gast Blasters with equally nonexistent results. These doors were meant to stay closed, and stay closed they did. Gloomfanger was equal parts unimpressed by Red and Edge’s magic and dauntless when it came to recovering her lost little one.

Assembling her seven tiny troops, Gloomfanger walked right up to the heavy doors, gave them a precursory sniff, and began to dig. The possum excavated the frozen ground like a piece of heavy construction equipment being expertly operated by a seasoned professional, and her babies pushed the freshly turned soil out of the way to make room for more. In a matter of minutes, Gloomfanger and her brood had disappeared into the tunnel under the door on their rescue mission, leaving the skeleton brothers standing slack-jawed with amazement in the forest behind them.

When she emerged in the Ruins, Gloomfanger shook the loose dirt from her coarse salt-and-pepper fur. She helped each of her seven babies out of the tunnel, giving them a quick grooming as well. Once all eight possums were suitably presentable, they stormed the proverbial castle, seeking out the Queen who had possum-napped Rubbish.

Toriel faced down the mother possum who had entered her home, seven small soldiers trailing behind her; the former Queen was not a monster to be trifled with. Gloomfanger’s tail shot straight up in the air, she opened her jaws- a pink cavern lined with needle teeth like white stalactites- and emitted an unearthly screech. Rubbish waddled over to her, and she calmed down, chattering at him and checking him for injuries or poor grooming. Toriel’s face softened. She recognized a distraught mother when she saw one.

Toriel backed away, resigning herself to losing this latest adopted child as well. Gloomfanger darted in front of her, meeting dejected yellow eyes with her own glittering black gaze. She clicked her teeth at Toriel, then led her entire brood of baby possums over to climb on the goat monster’s robes. Toriel shuffled to her armchair, and the parade of possums followed.

When Toriel brought out her photo album, every single possum found a perch on her lap or shoulders (with Rubbish in the seat of honor atop her head) and basked in the dancing light and comforting warmth of the fire. Toriel poured her heartache out to the animals, and they listened with quiet compassion. Finally, the Queen closed her book and sighed.

“So you see, my children, you must stay with me,” she explained gently. Gloomfanger lifted her head and chuffed. As Gloomfanger rose from her seat, her brood of baby possums followed. Gloomfanger led them single file to the tunnel under the door, the tunnel that led out of the Ruins, out of Toriel’s life, and into the forest which had claimed so many of her charges.

“No,” begged Toriel. “If you leave me, I’ll be alone.”

Gloomfanger tilted her head in the universal animal sign of confusion, then vanished into the tunnel, followed by her little ones.

Toriel returned to her empty house, numb. She had not stopped Gloomfanger because Rubbish and his siblings were her rightful children, yet their loss left Toriel cold and empty, just like her house. Toriel extinguished the fire, preferring to sit in the encompassing darkness, the shadows wrapping her like a shroud while she wept. Everyone always left her in the end, and boss monsters did not fall down. She would exist in this misery and loneliness until time forgot her as the rest of monsterkind had.

The next day, despite Red’s disapproval, Gloomfanger and the Gloomy brigade tagged along with him to his sentry station. Red sat on the bench with a meaningful look at the possum, but she kept waddling along, babies in tow, towards the door to the Ruins. Red hurried after them just in time to see them entering the tunnel. Red shouted after them, but the last tiny pink tail tip had already disappeared from sight.

Toriel snapped out of her cataonic depression when she felt tiny paws patting at her legs. Nine angular faces stared up at her. She leapt from her chair and headed to the kitchen to prepare her children one of her famous pies. She referred to it as Butterscotch Pie, but Gloomfanger and her babies knew snails when they smelled them… not that they minded. After wolfing down as many snails as nine eternally hungry possums could eat, the visitors followed Toriel into her den to enjoy the fire and listen to the tragic stories that accompanied the appearance of the photo album.

Once more, Gloomfanger and her babies returned home to the skeleton brothers’ house in Snowdin, and once more, Toriel despaired. The pattern continued for weeks. Toriel’s nerves frayed. Each time the possum and her brood left the Ruins, the missing Queen believed that they would never return, yet they did. As time passed, Toriel began to expect the visits. At first her mind anticipated the visits with the bleak notion that surely they would stop at some point. Eventually, she was able to look forward to seeing her small, furry children without the nagging doubts.

One day, during the photos-and-bereavement session, Gloomfanger pointedly knocked the photo album to the floor. She waited, with her babies behind her until Toriel stooped to pick it up then waddled very slowly toward the tunnel that the possums used to travel between the Ruins and the forest. Curious, Toriel followed them, and this time, the baby possums trailed behind her instead of their mother.

When Gloomfanger reached the tunnel, she stopped. Toriel stopped too and stared at the possum. Gloomfanger turned to the giant door with its elaborate embellishments, puffed out her fur and hissed at it. Toriel and the young possums stood in contemplative silence for a moment. “What are you trying to tell me, my child?” Toriel finally asked, though she already suspected what the possum’s intentions might be.

Gloomfanger headbutted the door.

“You believe that I should leave the Ruins and return to a life amongst other monsters,” Toriel stated uneasily. It wasn’t a question, but Gloomfanger answered with an encouraging chirp anyway.

Toriel turned her attention to the photo album clutched in her hands. She had fled to the Ruins to escape from grief and loss, but heartache pursued her, even here. Isolation had done her no favors.

“I can’t face them,” she explained, voicing her fears aloud for perhaps the first time ever. “I can’t bear their pity or their heartless violence.” After spending so long convincing herself that constant abandonment and endless longing were her punishments for her failures as a mother, she did not know how to think differently. Gloomfanger, ever the wise and perceptive possum, trotted over and nuzzled Toriel’s leg.

Toriel’s troubled mind spun. She could choose. She could choose to hold on to her losses, to martyr herself by suffering alone until that torment consumed everything she ever was or dreamed to be, or she could choose to let go. She could choose to move forward. She could reintegrate herself into monster society. She could risk heartbreak, but she could also regain companionship to balance it.

Gloomfanger waited. Slowly, hesitantly, Toriel laid her photo album down on the smooth, familiar stones, giving the faded cover one last caress, then the goat monster faced the door, pushed it open with conviction, and stepped out into the cold Snowdin Forest sunlight.

Hope can be found in the unlikeliest places and in the most unusual forms. Some hold hope deep inside of them where it can never be lost or broken, and some look for it all of their lives without realizing that it's right there in front of them. The monsters of the Underfell Underground lacked all hope, inward and outward, until it arrived in the form of an unkempt, garbage-eating possum named Gloomfanger.


End file.
